


every picture it paints

by Cloudnine101



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/M, Fix-It, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-04
Updated: 2016-04-04
Packaged: 2018-05-31 06:21:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6459292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cloudnine101/pseuds/Cloudnine101
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Aaron's soulmark emerged when he was fifteen years old, and caused him to fall off his horse with the pain and land headfirst among the shrubbery.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Now that he thinks about it, that was probably a sign.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	every picture it paints

_1_

Aaron has _Pardon me. Are you Aaron Burr, sir?_ written on his ribs, curving along them. Aaron's soulmark emerged when he was fifteen years old, and caused him to fall off his horse with the pain and land headfirst among the shrubbery.

Now that he thinks about it, that was probably a sign.

The year's 1776. New York City.

"Pardon me. Are you Aaron Burr, sir?" the young man's saying, smiling gently, and twisting his hat between his hands. He looks eager - and he's speaking politely enough, but there's a spark of something vicious in his manner.

And Aaron thinks, _it's going to be the death of me_.

He can't speak. His mouth is dry. The man's still looking, staring deep into his eyes, and Aaron tries to turn away, but the man will figure him out, so he _has_ to speak, has to talk, has to -

"That depends," he settles upon. "Who's asking?"

There's nothing - not a flicker. The man continues, laughing, "Oh, well, sure, sir. I'm Alexander Hamilton, I'm at your service, sir. I've been looking for you."

Good God, he's barely more than a child, and yet he is still so beautiful that Aaron cannot stand to look, tall and dark-haired. He's everything Aaron imagined he might be.

"I'm getting nervous," Aaron says, making room. Alexander Hamilton takes the seat beside him as easily as if it was his by right, which of course, in a way, it is.

Aaron's heard of mismatched soulmates before. He's met one or two. Sometimes, whatever it is causes the names makes a mistake. He hadn't thought it would happen to him. Nobody ever does, though, do they?

As Hamilton sips his drink, his sleeve rides up along his forearm. Aaron doesn't see much, but there, written plain, is the name Eliza. _Eliza_. Eliza who? It's hardly Aaron's concern. This will probably be the last time he sees Alexander Hamilton, anyway.

They're both orphans. Hamilton says that he wished for a war, so he could get a shot at being - more, Aaron guesses. More than what?

Aaron's seen that spark in the grin before. It's on every man's face when he knows he's fighting a war he can't win. Aaron has a sudden, determined desire to see that particular expression disappear. It might mean Hamilton's survival. It might mean that he loves to have a family - to meet his Eliza. It might mean Aaron can show him where he's about to go wrong.

"Talk less," Aaron tells him, "smile more."

"You can't be serious," Hamilton says, his sleeve brushing along the length of Aaron's wrist. He has long, tanned hands.

Laurens and Lafayette and Hercules Mulligan come in, singing some drinking shanty - Laurens at the head of the bunch, of course. They're going to become rebels - they want their war. Independence: Lafayette hates the monarchy, he's working for France; Mulligan was an apprentice, who took a chance to make a buck; Laurens fights against slavery - how can all men be equal until our brothers are free? 

Laurens is a good man - his principals are sound - but there's no way he's keeping himself safe. Hamilton will be drawn to him - a moth to a flame.

These men fill the space around Hamilton, but the distance is already there, so it doesn't much matter. That distance will be the one to keep Hamilton safe. Two men cannot easily be soulmates.

"If you stand for nothing, Burr," Hamilton says, "what'll you fall for?"

The words hurt more than they should. _You_ , Aaron considers, and is horrified, stomach jumping. He pays the landlord and hurries home.

What is there to do now? Women rarely marry men who are not their match. It's frowned upon - more than that, it's questioned. Aaron has never had questionable conduct. He leaves that for men like Mulligan, who sleeps with a different woman every night and sounds absurdly proud of the fact.

Aaron is holding his purse in his hand and considering where he can go. Hamilton is a few feet away, with those beautiful eyes. It isn't too late to go back - to claim Hamilton as his own. He can't help but wonder about the softness of Hamilton's touch, and the way the lines of his coat fall around him. Aaron puts his balled-up fists in his pockets because they're shaking too badly to be seen.

 

_2_

Fast-forward - British Admiral Howe's got troops on the water - thirty two thousand troops in New York harbour - they surround our troops!

"We keep meeting," Aaron gets out, at the same time as Hamilton does. The room's too warm and too close. Hamilton's wearing grey. It sets off the colour of his eyes. Those eyes will be Aaron's undoing soon enough, he is sure. He has dreamed about them every night since they met.

There is a dip in the hollow of Hamilton's back, in the space between his shoulder-blades. It's clearly visible whenever he moves, even beneath the bulk of his uniform.

They're both in Washington's quarters - Washington stated that he needed assistance, and that's why Aaron's here. He could have done that. He's far more qualified than Hamilton - older, more experienced, less reckless. Aaron Burr is the best man for the job because he is expendable. And yet -

"Burr," Washington says.

"Sir?"

Washington smiles. "Close the door on your way out."

 

_3_

Eliza, as it turns out, is Eliza Schuyler. _Schuyler_. One of the Schuyler sisters - Angelica, Eliza, Peggy. The _middle_.

Aaron fumes all day when he hears the news. He ends up at the bar. In the morning, he drags himself back home, stinking, and resolves to make _something_ out of this.

 

_4_

Theodosia's husband is fighting in Georgia. Aaron's keeping her bed warm until he returns. Theodosia husband is her soulmate, but she doesn't love him, or so she says. She tried to show him the mark, once, but Aaron didn't want to look. He wasn't sure he could stand to see the words.

Aaron thinks he might be in love with her. She has his child - a beautiful baby girl, and he never understand why children were called that until he saw her eyes.

Hamilton has a son, now, too: a boy named Phillip, who looks like Eliza, or so Aaron's been told. Aaron would like to meet him. He wonders if Hamilton would have been satisfied by his side - childless, of course. If Hamilton had been his, Aaron never would have considered Theodosia. Even as he holds her close to him, he knows this for a certainty.

Aaron's daughter is named Theodosia, too. He has never loved anyone as much as he loves her mother. Theodosia has tiny hands and feet. Her eyes are the same as his. He helped to create her. He wants to build a new world - but is that even truly him? Or are those Hamilton's emotions? Theodosia is pure and innocent. She is everything he has ever wanted. He realises now that this is the thing he will treasure most in his life. He will never be famed, but he will provide for her. This, at the least, he can do. So Aaron rocks his beautiful child close to him and kisses the tawny tufts of her hair.

 

_5_

Them, but not him? _Them_ , but not _him_?

Aaron's at home. He's pacing. The door to the other room is open, and the corridor that leads down to the stairwell is in front of him.

Eliza Schuyler is a beautiful woman, as is her sister - and he's seen the way Hamilton looks at her, the way he looks at both at them, and the way he looks at Laurens! _Laurens_! If he can fall for John Laurens, and for _Angelica Schuyler_ \- who are _not_ his soulmates - why can't he fall for the man who _is_?

It baffles Aaron. It truly does. All he has ever done is stay silent - keep his opinions to himself, smile politely - and yet, Hamilton hates him still. Perhaps if he was to be more daring, he would rise higher in Hamilton's estimations - but what could he do? What would be enough?

Hamilton's eyes have darkened. They are still divine. His hands are soft, and his mouth is wide, and his words make Aaron want to tear up his own documents and run forwards, forwards, into Hamilton's arms.

 

_6_

They're lawyers, working in the same city, working down the corridor from one another. Sometimes, Aaron feels like hurtling to Hamilton's side. He feels it as strongly as though there is a cord tied in the space between their chests.

It is the middle of the night when Hamilton appears, his eyes wild. It's a business meeting, of course - nothing more.

"You're a better lawyer than I am," Hamilton's saying, upright and steady in the doorframe, perfect posture and perfect, uncertain smile. Angelica, Aaron chants to himself, John, _Eliza_.

What the history books will not mention is that Hamilton's hair is plastered to his brow by rainwater. He's dropping, his coat and shirt sticking to his ribs. His hair has fallen down in front of his eyes.

Hamilton needs his help. Aaron bids him goodnight. He shuts the door between them gently and leans his shoulder against it, waiting until Hamilton's footsteps have retreated down the corridor. It takes some time.

Settling himself for the evening, Aaron is surprised by the knock on the door returning. When he opens it, he's half-irate, half-asleep, and Hamilton is saying, "Let me stay here tonight." His cheeks are flushed from the cold.

Aaron stares. He doesn't dare to ask why, in case the offer is revoked. Why would Hamilton say that? Why should Aaron allow it? It will only cause him pain in the long term. Aaron has always been careful not to cause himself pain.

When Hamilton sleeps, he snuffles. It's a small kind of a noise - a whining, needy noise, and it is a noise that Aaron knows he should hate but finds himself loving. He runs his hand through Hamilton's hair twice. That is all he allows himself, but it is enough for Hamilton to tilt his head to one side and for his lips to brush against the pads of Aaron's fingers. Aaron's breath comes short. He can feel every line of himself, until Hamilton relaxes again, breath puffing warm against his skin.

Aaron goes to the mirror and matches his own stare. He rakes his hands across his temples and waits for the stinging pain to set in; there is no pain, only the sweet numbness of the alcohol singing in his system. Aaron turns around. He admires the way Hamilton's shirt slides across the tops of his legs. He admires the way Hamilton's sweep of hair falls into the space between his shoulder and his cheek. He admires the curve of Hamilton's back, and the places he has never dared to touch before, but wants to now.

"I think I might be in love with you, a little." He whispers the words into Hamilton's shoulder as he presses her face against it. Hamilton makes another sound, but he can't hear what Aaron is saying, and so it doesn't matter. Aaron inhales; Hamilton isn't sweet, like Theodosia. He's musky and coarse and firm, firm in different places, loose in different places. Aaron runs his hands over Hamilton's stomach and pulls him close. "Isn't that ironic?" His words shake as his mouth trembles.

 

_7_

Thomas Jefferson returns from France. Naturally, he hates Hamilton's guts. Who doesn't, nowadays? If it wasn't for Washington, he'd be a political outcast - the righteous man turned Cain - and then Washington steps down, kind, genial man that he is, and Hamilton is left for the dogs.

It is hardly a surprise to Aaron when he discovers the existence of Maria Reynolds - Hamilton's mistress. It is still a blow to the chest. He feels himself stagger. He has never had Hamilton down for a liar - true, there had been Laurens, but they were closer than allies. Maria Reynolds could be any handsome woman in the street. How hard had she fought to earn Hamilton's affection - to make him betray his wife, his soulmate, his Eliza? Did she simply have to spread her legs?

Aaron does not promise he will not share his discovery. When he does this, Hamilton's hand tightens fractionally on his elbow. Aaron shakes him off. He cannot remember having been so angry before. The worst part of it all is that Hamilton looks, and acts, the same as he ever did before, only now that he is saddened, he does not laugh. It is the most wonderful sound in Aaron's life extinguished.

 

_8_

Reynolds is found out. Hamilton is ruined. His wife has turned against him, or so the rumours say - he is sleeping in his study with the door locked tight. Hamilton's chance of running for president is swiftly and surely destroyed. The public is turned against him. Aaron is turned against him - and that is the last of it.

And then there is Phillip, Hamilton's son. He dies; he is shot in a duel. He is young and idealistic, barely nineteen.

Aaron knows the moment Phillip's death is sounded. He feels Hamilton's pain as if it was his own. But if Hamilton had stopped it - _could_ he have stopped it?

 

_9_

In summary: at the end, it is Jefferson against Burr for president. It is the sweetest ambrosia. Aaron is so close he can touch and taste it. Maybe then, he will be enough for Alexander. Maybe then, Alexander will smile at him without grimacing, and press his palm and both hands to congratulate him. It will not be enough. It will be something. And with the presidential office comes proof that he can work for something.

The public is asking for Hamilton's opinion. He has been living in a pretty house in a quiet area of the city. He is Aaron's friend, officially; unofficially, where do they stand? Who will Hamilton choose? Burr? Jefferson? _Jefferson_.

Jefferson wins in a landslide.

"What do you stand for?" Hamilton had said. What does he stand for? He stands for a man who will never love him back - a bastard, whore-son, immigrant. He stands for his mother - a genius - and his father - who commanded respect - and the boy they raised who is nothing like either of them.

Aaron thinks of Eliza, betrayed by Hamilton. He thinks of Phillip, lying dead in the dirt and the soil. He thinks of Thomas Jefferson's condescension. He thinks of himself, his future, the future of the people of the United States of America. He thinks of Theodosia, his daughter, with the name of his lover - his beautiful daughter.

What do you stand for, Burr? He'll show Hamilton _exactly_ what he stands for. He stands for the name Eliza running along an expanse of wrist, and for the aching inside his chest when he thinks of sweet Theodosia, his daughter, and for the happiness he fought so hard to cultivate. He sits on the end of the bed, as Theodosia breathes within it, and starts to compose a letter.

 

_10_

Aaron creates the duel. Hamilton chooses the time and place.

"You are set on doing this?" Theodosia asks, across the breakfast table. "I was under the impression that you were madly in love with him."

"Where did you get this impression?" Aaron asks, laughing.

Theodosia looks at him long and hard. "Do not do anything you will regret," she says.

They face one another the morning following. The ground is soft. Hamilton's wearing his glasses. The light gleams on their rims. There is something tired in the set of his jaw - his energy has left him. Aaron will keep him safe. Aaron will make him whole.

A duel. A ridiculous idea. Laughable, even.

He does not want to kill Hamilton. Burr shoots him.

Hamilton's coat is split open and the doctor is running to him and pulling it apart, and then his shirt, and there, on his chest, on the left-hand side of his chest - good God - there, in cursive, Alexander's cursive, is _That depends. Who's asking?_

Hamilton's gasping. His eyes are open. His head's been tipped up. They put him on a stretcher and row him across the river, and Aaron is still standing there. The mud locks  around his ankles. He gets himself a drink. He's sitting in the bar, cold. Cold drink, cold head, cold floor-tiles, and Aaron's sick and tired of waiting, of not _knowing_.

 

_11_

Hamilton doesn't die. He's always been too much of a tenacious bastard. He clings on by the skin of his teeth. Aaron comes to visit him as early as he can. He sits down on the side of the bed. Alexander's lying still - pale, much too pale.

"He needs rest," Eliza says, laying a hand on his shoulder, and Aaron starts. "He needs care." He needs his wife; that is left unsaid. Aaron knows that he has no right to be here. Aaron knows that Eliza has every right to hate him.

"I will give it to him," Aaron promises. This is one of the longest conversations he has had with her, he realises. He wonders if she knows. He wonders if she is aware of the second mark her husband holds. How can such a thing be true? Outside of fairytales, it is an impossibility.

"Wait for him," Eliza says.

 

_12_

Hamilton wakes on an evening and demands water. Aaron holds the glass to his lips and waits as he swallows. Hamilton's throat bobs. Eliza is visible in the garden beyond. The twilight is growing nearer.

"You should have told me."

Hamilton spits into the glass involuntarily. "Would you have believed me?" Alexander sighs. Hamilton presses on, "No. Of course you wouldn't have. I've heard about such a thing happening before, but I hadn't presumed - it's of no matter, now. It doesn't - no."

"Believed you?" Aaron says. "Forgive me, my friend, but I'm lost."

Hamilton stares at him. "I have a mark," he says, "and you do not. I have the first words you said to me, and you have - I have no idea what you've got, Burr."

Aaron buries his face in the blankets for a moment in lieu of screaming. He then begins to remove his shirt, hands fumbling. Hamilton's brows shoot into his head.

"There," Aaron says, bearing his chest fully, "there is my mark, my only mark, and you have _two_ , you lucky - "

Hamilton surges forwards and kisses him. Aaron allows himself to sink into the touch. Hamilton's hands are sure and soft; Aaron allows himself to be insulted in-between breaths. It is as good an ending as any, he supposes.

"This is not going to be simple," Aaron says, when they break apart. "I have Theodosia. You have a wife. Your children - my daughter - "

"We'll find a way," Hamilton says, "and we'll make _something_."

 

_13_

Eliza's eyes are hawk-like. Her fingers are curled around a butter knife. "Tell me everything about yourself," she instructs, in a tone that must be complied with. "Leave out no element."

Aaron feels that he is permitted a swallow. At his side, Hamilton, traitor that he is, begins to laugh. Aaron finds that same warmth spreading through him.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! you can find me @muckymagician on tumblr


End file.
